Between a Highlander and a Hard Place, page 24
The doors opened into a private dressing chamber. Symon kept going until he’d reached the set of doors in the back of that room, which opened into a bedchamber.
“Do ye have any idea how much I enjoy knowing ye came to me when others knew yer intentions?” He was standing in front of the closed doors, working the buttons of his doublet and then shrugging out of the garment. “Or how much I want to scold ye for taking the risk?” he continued.
“Do you understand how important it is for me not to waste what might be our last night together?” she countered, reaching up to pull the linen off her head.
“If the King sends ye to England, I will come for ye.” His tone hardened with resolve.
“You will not.” Athena forced the words past her lips. Symon tossed his kilt aside, his expression darkening. “You will not put your life at risk.”
“The King will no’ send troops into the Highlands, and I would no’ be the first Highlander to suffer the displeasure of the King.”
“The Duke of Norfolk thought the same way, thought himself beyond the Queen’s reach in the North,” Athena answered as she pulled the lace from the eyelets on the front of her bodice. “Elizabeth had him beheaded and his title tainted. Do you wish that on our children?”
“I wish there to be children that are ours, Athena!” He caught her up against him, pressing a kiss against her mouth to silence her.
She wouldn’t lie—it was exactly what she craved.
Him.
He lifted her out of the puddle of her clothing, using all of the strength she adored to carry her to the bed.
She pulled him down with her, unwilling to allow him to pull his shirt off. Instead, she pushed at it, kissing him back and rolling him onto his back as she came up on top of him.
“You will not put your life at risk, Symon Grant!” She lifted up and came down on his cock. It was hard and blunt, and she sucked in a deep breath as he cupped her hips, guiding her.
Her heart pounded with the need to move faster, to ride him just as hard and fast as he’d taken her. She wanted him to know she would demand him and take him too.
“Look at me!” he growled.
She opened her eyes and gasped. Pleasure blazed in his eyes.
A moment later, he was rolling her beneath him, earning a snarl of defiance from her.
He chuckled at her. “Ye are mine, and I am going to claim ye now.”
He thrust hard into her spread body, pushing her closer to climax as she lifted up to take every last bit of his length. Climax rushed toward her, but she kept her eyes open, watching as his narrowed and his jaw clenched.
His seed released a moment before her own pleasure crested. She felt her body clenching around him, witnessed the way his face contorted with release. It all combined into a moment of sheer intensity that wrung a cry from her lips as pleasure tore through her.
White-hot and so intense she lost track of anything except the man she was clinging to.
Symon didn’t let her fall. He collapsed onto the bed beside her, curling around her as the night sheltered them from everything except each other.
* * *
“You know I am correct.”
Symon had been watching her from the bed. In the gray light of dawn, Athena pulled a comb through her hair, beginning to prepare for the day that would not spare them its arrival. The two doors between the bedchamber and the outer room were open now, proving that the world was not going to allow them to forget about it.
She heard Symon coming closer, his feet bare against the floor.
Such an intimate sound, and she took a moment to savor it as he reached out and fingered her unbound hair.
“Promise me, Symon. I cannot live with the idea of you being executed for disobeying your king.”
She turned and looked at him.
“Ye would have me cower?” Symon shook his head with frustration. “It is no’ in me nature.”
“It was in your nature to take me with you to your home.” She stood up and faced off with him. “I love you. Admit you are pleased to hear me say it.”
“I am,” he growled. “For I love ye too, Athena. Why do you think I will no’ allow ye to be given to another man?”
“If you lose your head, you will have nothing to say about it,” she answered with tears glistening in her eyes. “And I will have to watch it, your death. And live with the memory for the rest of my days. Better to know you are alive…”
He grunted, and she hit him.
“You are so stubborn,” she hissed. “What of your people? You and Brenda are the last of your line. If you die here, there will be fighting and blood spilled. You told me so yourself.”
“The lass is correct, Laird.”
Symon turned and shot Lyall a hard look, but the captain only tugged on the corner of his bonnet where he stood just beyond the doorway to the outer chamber.
“Whatever the King decides must be obeyed,” Lyall finished. “For all that I will wish a pox on him if he does nae see the sense in no’ sending her back to England.”
Symon was silent. Athena saw the understanding in his eyes. She laid her hand over his heart before sitting back down and beginning to braid her hair.
Symon would do what he had to.
Just as she would.
Duty wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she had always been told it would be.
However, it was every bit as demanding.
* * *
The King received them in his throne room again.
The raised dais with its canopy was regal, as were the two guards standing behind the throne the young monarch sat on. He was perfect in manner and bearing, and Esmé Stewart was in the corner looking far too confident.
Athena felt her insides clench.
“You spent the night with your wife, Lord Grant?” the King asked. “Knowing I might send her to England today?”
“Someday, I hope you understand how dear a wife can be, if ye are fortunate enough to be wed to a woman who touches yer heart.”
James contemplated Symon for a long moment. “Did your father arrange your first marriage?”
Symon nodded. “However, he allowed me to voice me opinion in the matter.”
“You selected your first wife from women of correct social standing?” James asked.
Symon nodded.
“Yet now you would bring home to your clan a woman you found at a market fair.”
Symon surprised the King by grinning. “By the sound of ye, Sire, someone has tried to make ye think Athena is no’ worthy of being lady of the Grants.”
The young King lost his composure for a moment as his gaze slipped to Esmé.
“If she were no’ worthy, why then would another man want her so badly he’d go to so much trouble to convince ye to take her from me?” Symon finished softly. “For I am a loyal man, and I’ll bend me knee to ye and no’ ever break me word, but I will no’ ever forget the slight of ye taking the woman I have pledged meself to.”
“How dare you threaten the King,” Esmé growled.
Athena felt her heart stop. The guards behind the King shifted their attention to Symon, waiting on the word to take action.
“I spoke the truth, and if ye are a wise king, ye’ll understand the worth of knowing where I stand without trying to wonder if I am play-acting the part of a loyal subject.”
James held his hand up. His young face had settled into a firm expression.
“The solution shall be this,” James said. “Lord Grant, you will give me your pledge, in front of these lords, and I will be pleased.”
Athena felt time was tormenting her, creeping along as she waited for the young monarch to continue. He looked at her.
“Athena Trappes is Lord Grant’s wife.”
Esmé Stewart let out a little snort of disapproval.
“I cannot break the bonds of matrimony,” James continued, “for it is a state in which a woman is best settled and kept from mischief.”
Athena reverenced deeply.
Symon lowered himself to his knee and kissed the King’s signet ring. Esmé sat back in his chair, letting out a huff.
But the royal guards returned to looking straight ahead.
Perhaps it was over.
Air moved in and out of Athena’s lungs easily for the first time that day. Symon and his men started to back up, but the King lifted his hand.
“The Stewart property passes to Lord Grant through his wife and shall be settled upon Brenda Grant, who will have it as her dowry when she weds Galwell Scrope.”
Athena gasped.
“Your Majesty, I gave me word to me father on his deathbed that I would never force Brenda to wed,” Symon protested.
“And you are keeping your pledge, Lord Grant,” James informed Symon. “I am her king, and I demand this wedding as a means of keeping peace.”
Symon shook his head.
“You have given me your pledge, Lord Grant. Obey me or face the consequences,” James insisted. “I assure you, they will be grave.”
“I will obey, Yer Majesty,” Brenda spoke up. Symon turned to her, his body rigid with fury. “And ye will no’ argue with me, Cousin. Now leave before I am forced to watch ye hang for yer stubborn pride.”
“Brenda…no…I cannae allow it…”
“Ye have kept yer word, Cousin, and ye have a wife,” Brenda declared. “Do nae make her a widow so soon.”
James lifted his staff and stamped it against the floor. Behind them the doors opened as the guards behind James looked at them to ensure they left in accordance with the King’s wishes.
Esmé strode forward, taking Brenda by the arm. She jerked away from him as a group of guards formed around them and took Brenda down the hall.
But Esmé sent a smirk toward Symon before he left.
“I am going to have to kill that man,” Bothan Gunn muttered under his breath.
“Some of us will thank ye for the service.”
Symon turned his head to discover the Earl of Angus standing nearby. “There is always someone listening at court. Remember that.”
The earl jerked his head toward the passageway. He kept going until they were outside where the earl’s men had horses waiting. “Elizabeth Tudor is on her summer progress in the north of England. Esmé Stewart is going to take yer cousin down there to see this business finished quickly.” He nodded toward his men. “Fresh horses, everything ye need.”
Symon nodded and offered the earl his hand. They clasped wrists.
“Ye must allow the marriage to take place.”
Symon growled.
The earl kept Symon close with the hold on his wrist. “Retrieve yer cousin now, and Esmé Stewart—curse and rot him—will only run back to the King and have ye branded a traitor. Don’t mistake how powerful he is with the young King. He’ll have me marching me men up to yer land. Find another way.”
Symon didn’t care for the earl’s words.
But there was a flash of red hair as Brenda emerged from the passageway. There were a dozen burly retainers trailing her.
“I will have words with me cousin,” she informed them.
The captain looked down at her. “He can join ye over here.”
Symon moved toward Brenda as the retainers fell back.
Brenda hugged him tightly. “Go home,” she whispered against his ear. “I know ye plan to ride after me. Do not. I am going to marry him.”
Symon growled at her. “I can no’ allow ye to do it, Brenda.”
She locked gazes with him. “We shall both do what must be done for the Grants. If ye ride after me, ye shall be branded a traitor. Perhaps if ye did no’ have a new wife, ye might do as ye please, but I forbid it, Symon.” Brenda released him. “It is hardly the first time I have been wed for the benefit of the family. Nor am I the only woman facing it. Promise me ye will never force such a fate on any daughters ye have.” She looked past Symon toward Bothan. “And ye shall not do murder.”
He nodded reluctantly. Brenda offered him a smile before she turned and returned to the inside of the palace, the retainers closing around her.
Symon waited until they were far enough away before he locked gazes with Bothan.
The Gunn chief slowly grinned.
* * *
Someone rang the bells as they approached Grant Tower.
By the time they rode through the gates, the yard was full. Symon swung out of the saddle and came around to lift Athena off the back of her mare before he turned and looked at the expectant faces of his people.
“Yer mistress is home.”
A cheer went up. Symon sent her a wink before Tamhas offered him something.
“Feenet, hang this in the hall.”
Athena’s eyes widened as she recognized her smock. The blood had dried dark brown but the Grants hooted with appreciation as the Head of House held it up proudly.
Symon scooped her off her feet and carried her inside. He didn’t stop until he’d climbed three flights of stairs and taken her through the doors that led to his chamber.
“I wanted to put ye right…here,” he muttered as he placed her on the huge bed, “from the moment I saw ye.”
“I’m sorry about Brenda.”
Symon grunted. “Do ye truly believe I’d have come home if I did nae trust Bothan would see her delivered from harm’s way?”
The tension that had kept her shoulders tight for the entire ride home suddenly eased.
“It would seem I have misjudged you,” she offered softly.
He stood and unbuckled his belt, allowing his kilt to slither down his legs to the floor. “I see I am going to have to take ye in hand, Athena.”
She watched him unbutton the cuffs of his shirt before he pulled the garment over his head and dropped it.
“Would your bed be my proper place?” she asked in a husky tone.
“Let’s give it a try and see how things go. It’s the truth I think we’ll have to have a fair number of discussions on the matter of just what position I prefer ye in.”
* * *
“You aren’t as content in the matter as you try to tell me you are.”
Symon grunted as Athena lifted her head off his chest. The window shutters were still open, allowing the moonlight in, because they hadn’t left the bed long enough for anyone to attend to the chore of closing them.
“It’s me duty to put yer fears to rest,” he answered her.
“And is it not mine to share your burdens?” she asked.
Symon pressed her head back down onto his chest. “Ye ease me load by being here, where I was always alone for the past few years.”
Athena rubbed her hand across his belly. “Perhaps Uncle Henry could help Brenda.”
Symon’s body stiffened. “How so?”
“He was going to gather support against Galwell,” Athena answered as she lifted her head and looked at him. “Elizabeth Tudor will not take it kindly if she discovers one of her lords is playing women falsely.”
Symon slowly grinned. He shifted from beneath her, rolling out of the bed as he rustled around in their discarded clothing to find his shirt. It was the only thing he put on before he strode toward the door.
He stopped at the last moment and reversed course, coming back to sit beside her.
“I love ye, Athena. For yer wit and yer flesh.” He kissed her soundly before rising. “I’m going to write him a letter.”
“I love you, Symon Grant.”
He froze at the door, turning around to look at her with his hand on the door. The look on his face brought tears into her eyes. She didn’t fight them though. They were born of happiness, and happiness was too rare a thing in the world.
So she’d embrace every moment of it.
Every moment she had to share with Symon.
A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough.
Of that she was certain.
* * *
It wasn’t the first time she’d been sent to marry a man because of the gain it would deliver to her family fortune.
Brenda looked at the border of England and stiffened her spine.
She wasn’t even very upset about the whole business. After all, she was much stronger than when her father had wed her to a Campbell at the tender age of seventeen.
Ye are upset…
No, she was not. Brenda forbade her inner voice to argue with her. But a face rose from her memory in defiance of her determination to focus on the path in front of her.
Bothan Gunn.
Anyone who didn’t understand how dangerous he might be was indeed a fool.
She’d rejected him.
He wasn’t the first man to meet that fate, but he was the only face that refused to be banished from her mind.
She would have to tighten her discipline.
For the road in front of her was toward England, and Bothan was a chief from the Highlands. He belonged there, among the snowcapped mountains, not below her in the stench of overcrowded English cities.
She would not think of him again.
And that was final.
* * *
Grant Tower
Symon was watching her sleep.
Athena woke with a soft gasp to find him with his head resting in his hand as he lay on his side with his elbow propped up beside her.
“Ye must stop worrying,” she murmured as she reached up to stroke his face. Her belly wasn’t even rounding yet, but her waistline was thicker as their babe began to grow.
Symon’s concern grew every day too.
“Or is it…that I do, in fact, snore?” she asked softly.
He chuckled, placing his hand on her belly. “Ye don’t snore, wife…”
She enjoyed the way he stressed the word wife. “You realize that when you worry…you doubt God?”
Symon’s brow furrowed.
Athena nodded. “Yes, after all, we were brought together…under the most extreme circumstances. And I am here…and our child is growing—”
“Do ye have any idea how much I enjoy knowing ye came to me when others knew yer intentions?” He was standing in front of the closed doors, working the buttons of his doublet and then shrugging out of the garment. “Or how much I want to scold ye for taking the risk?” he continued.
“Do you understand how important it is for me not to waste what might be our last night together?” she countered, reaching up to pull the linen off her head.
“If the King sends ye to England, I will come for ye.” His tone hardened with resolve.
“You will not.” Athena forced the words past her lips. Symon tossed his kilt aside, his expression darkening. “You will not put your life at risk.”
“The King will no’ send troops into the Highlands, and I would no’ be the first Highlander to suffer the displeasure of the King.”
“The Duke of Norfolk thought the same way, thought himself beyond the Queen’s reach in the North,” Athena answered as she pulled the lace from the eyelets on the front of her bodice. “Elizabeth had him beheaded and his title tainted. Do you wish that on our children?”
“I wish there to be children that are ours, Athena!” He caught her up against him, pressing a kiss against her mouth to silence her.
She wouldn’t lie—it was exactly what she craved.
Him.
He lifted her out of the puddle of her clothing, using all of the strength she adored to carry her to the bed.
She pulled him down with her, unwilling to allow him to pull his shirt off. Instead, she pushed at it, kissing him back and rolling him onto his back as she came up on top of him.
“You will not put your life at risk, Symon Grant!” She lifted up and came down on his cock. It was hard and blunt, and she sucked in a deep breath as he cupped her hips, guiding her.
Her heart pounded with the need to move faster, to ride him just as hard and fast as he’d taken her. She wanted him to know she would demand him and take him too.
“Look at me!” he growled.
She opened her eyes and gasped. Pleasure blazed in his eyes.
A moment later, he was rolling her beneath him, earning a snarl of defiance from her.
He chuckled at her. “Ye are mine, and I am going to claim ye now.”
He thrust hard into her spread body, pushing her closer to climax as she lifted up to take every last bit of his length. Climax rushed toward her, but she kept her eyes open, watching as his narrowed and his jaw clenched.
His seed released a moment before her own pleasure crested. She felt her body clenching around him, witnessed the way his face contorted with release. It all combined into a moment of sheer intensity that wrung a cry from her lips as pleasure tore through her.
White-hot and so intense she lost track of anything except the man she was clinging to.
Symon didn’t let her fall. He collapsed onto the bed beside her, curling around her as the night sheltered them from everything except each other.
* * *
“You know I am correct.”
Symon had been watching her from the bed. In the gray light of dawn, Athena pulled a comb through her hair, beginning to prepare for the day that would not spare them its arrival. The two doors between the bedchamber and the outer room were open now, proving that the world was not going to allow them to forget about it.
She heard Symon coming closer, his feet bare against the floor.
Such an intimate sound, and she took a moment to savor it as he reached out and fingered her unbound hair.
“Promise me, Symon. I cannot live with the idea of you being executed for disobeying your king.”
She turned and looked at him.
“Ye would have me cower?” Symon shook his head with frustration. “It is no’ in me nature.”
“It was in your nature to take me with you to your home.” She stood up and faced off with him. “I love you. Admit you are pleased to hear me say it.”
“I am,” he growled. “For I love ye too, Athena. Why do you think I will no’ allow ye to be given to another man?”
“If you lose your head, you will have nothing to say about it,” she answered with tears glistening in her eyes. “And I will have to watch it, your death. And live with the memory for the rest of my days. Better to know you are alive…”
He grunted, and she hit him.
“You are so stubborn,” she hissed. “What of your people? You and Brenda are the last of your line. If you die here, there will be fighting and blood spilled. You told me so yourself.”
“The lass is correct, Laird.”
Symon turned and shot Lyall a hard look, but the captain only tugged on the corner of his bonnet where he stood just beyond the doorway to the outer chamber.
“Whatever the King decides must be obeyed,” Lyall finished. “For all that I will wish a pox on him if he does nae see the sense in no’ sending her back to England.”
Symon was silent. Athena saw the understanding in his eyes. She laid her hand over his heart before sitting back down and beginning to braid her hair.
Symon would do what he had to.
Just as she would.
Duty wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she had always been told it would be.
However, it was every bit as demanding.
* * *
The King received them in his throne room again.
The raised dais with its canopy was regal, as were the two guards standing behind the throne the young monarch sat on. He was perfect in manner and bearing, and Esmé Stewart was in the corner looking far too confident.
Athena felt her insides clench.
“You spent the night with your wife, Lord Grant?” the King asked. “Knowing I might send her to England today?”
“Someday, I hope you understand how dear a wife can be, if ye are fortunate enough to be wed to a woman who touches yer heart.”
James contemplated Symon for a long moment. “Did your father arrange your first marriage?”
Symon nodded. “However, he allowed me to voice me opinion in the matter.”
“You selected your first wife from women of correct social standing?” James asked.
Symon nodded.
“Yet now you would bring home to your clan a woman you found at a market fair.”
Symon surprised the King by grinning. “By the sound of ye, Sire, someone has tried to make ye think Athena is no’ worthy of being lady of the Grants.”
The young King lost his composure for a moment as his gaze slipped to Esmé.
“If she were no’ worthy, why then would another man want her so badly he’d go to so much trouble to convince ye to take her from me?” Symon finished softly. “For I am a loyal man, and I’ll bend me knee to ye and no’ ever break me word, but I will no’ ever forget the slight of ye taking the woman I have pledged meself to.”
“How dare you threaten the King,” Esmé growled.
Athena felt her heart stop. The guards behind the King shifted their attention to Symon, waiting on the word to take action.
“I spoke the truth, and if ye are a wise king, ye’ll understand the worth of knowing where I stand without trying to wonder if I am play-acting the part of a loyal subject.”
James held his hand up. His young face had settled into a firm expression.
“The solution shall be this,” James said. “Lord Grant, you will give me your pledge, in front of these lords, and I will be pleased.”
Athena felt time was tormenting her, creeping along as she waited for the young monarch to continue. He looked at her.
“Athena Trappes is Lord Grant’s wife.”
Esmé Stewart let out a little snort of disapproval.
“I cannot break the bonds of matrimony,” James continued, “for it is a state in which a woman is best settled and kept from mischief.”
Athena reverenced deeply.
Symon lowered himself to his knee and kissed the King’s signet ring. Esmé sat back in his chair, letting out a huff.
But the royal guards returned to looking straight ahead.
Perhaps it was over.
Air moved in and out of Athena’s lungs easily for the first time that day. Symon and his men started to back up, but the King lifted his hand.
“The Stewart property passes to Lord Grant through his wife and shall be settled upon Brenda Grant, who will have it as her dowry when she weds Galwell Scrope.”
Athena gasped.
“Your Majesty, I gave me word to me father on his deathbed that I would never force Brenda to wed,” Symon protested.
“And you are keeping your pledge, Lord Grant,” James informed Symon. “I am her king, and I demand this wedding as a means of keeping peace.”
Symon shook his head.
“You have given me your pledge, Lord Grant. Obey me or face the consequences,” James insisted. “I assure you, they will be grave.”
“I will obey, Yer Majesty,” Brenda spoke up. Symon turned to her, his body rigid with fury. “And ye will no’ argue with me, Cousin. Now leave before I am forced to watch ye hang for yer stubborn pride.”
“Brenda…no…I cannae allow it…”
“Ye have kept yer word, Cousin, and ye have a wife,” Brenda declared. “Do nae make her a widow so soon.”
James lifted his staff and stamped it against the floor. Behind them the doors opened as the guards behind James looked at them to ensure they left in accordance with the King’s wishes.
Esmé strode forward, taking Brenda by the arm. She jerked away from him as a group of guards formed around them and took Brenda down the hall.
But Esmé sent a smirk toward Symon before he left.
“I am going to have to kill that man,” Bothan Gunn muttered under his breath.
“Some of us will thank ye for the service.”
Symon turned his head to discover the Earl of Angus standing nearby. “There is always someone listening at court. Remember that.”
The earl jerked his head toward the passageway. He kept going until they were outside where the earl’s men had horses waiting. “Elizabeth Tudor is on her summer progress in the north of England. Esmé Stewart is going to take yer cousin down there to see this business finished quickly.” He nodded toward his men. “Fresh horses, everything ye need.”
Symon nodded and offered the earl his hand. They clasped wrists.
“Ye must allow the marriage to take place.”
Symon growled.
The earl kept Symon close with the hold on his wrist. “Retrieve yer cousin now, and Esmé Stewart—curse and rot him—will only run back to the King and have ye branded a traitor. Don’t mistake how powerful he is with the young King. He’ll have me marching me men up to yer land. Find another way.”
Symon didn’t care for the earl’s words.
But there was a flash of red hair as Brenda emerged from the passageway. There were a dozen burly retainers trailing her.
“I will have words with me cousin,” she informed them.
The captain looked down at her. “He can join ye over here.”
Symon moved toward Brenda as the retainers fell back.
Brenda hugged him tightly. “Go home,” she whispered against his ear. “I know ye plan to ride after me. Do not. I am going to marry him.”
Symon growled at her. “I can no’ allow ye to do it, Brenda.”
She locked gazes with him. “We shall both do what must be done for the Grants. If ye ride after me, ye shall be branded a traitor. Perhaps if ye did no’ have a new wife, ye might do as ye please, but I forbid it, Symon.” Brenda released him. “It is hardly the first time I have been wed for the benefit of the family. Nor am I the only woman facing it. Promise me ye will never force such a fate on any daughters ye have.” She looked past Symon toward Bothan. “And ye shall not do murder.”
He nodded reluctantly. Brenda offered him a smile before she turned and returned to the inside of the palace, the retainers closing around her.
Symon waited until they were far enough away before he locked gazes with Bothan.
The Gunn chief slowly grinned.
* * *
Someone rang the bells as they approached Grant Tower.
By the time they rode through the gates, the yard was full. Symon swung out of the saddle and came around to lift Athena off the back of her mare before he turned and looked at the expectant faces of his people.
“Yer mistress is home.”
A cheer went up. Symon sent her a wink before Tamhas offered him something.
“Feenet, hang this in the hall.”
Athena’s eyes widened as she recognized her smock. The blood had dried dark brown but the Grants hooted with appreciation as the Head of House held it up proudly.
Symon scooped her off her feet and carried her inside. He didn’t stop until he’d climbed three flights of stairs and taken her through the doors that led to his chamber.
“I wanted to put ye right…here,” he muttered as he placed her on the huge bed, “from the moment I saw ye.”
“I’m sorry about Brenda.”
Symon grunted. “Do ye truly believe I’d have come home if I did nae trust Bothan would see her delivered from harm’s way?”
The tension that had kept her shoulders tight for the entire ride home suddenly eased.
“It would seem I have misjudged you,” she offered softly.
He stood and unbuckled his belt, allowing his kilt to slither down his legs to the floor. “I see I am going to have to take ye in hand, Athena.”
She watched him unbutton the cuffs of his shirt before he pulled the garment over his head and dropped it.
“Would your bed be my proper place?” she asked in a husky tone.
“Let’s give it a try and see how things go. It’s the truth I think we’ll have to have a fair number of discussions on the matter of just what position I prefer ye in.”
* * *
“You aren’t as content in the matter as you try to tell me you are.”
Symon grunted as Athena lifted her head off his chest. The window shutters were still open, allowing the moonlight in, because they hadn’t left the bed long enough for anyone to attend to the chore of closing them.
“It’s me duty to put yer fears to rest,” he answered her.
“And is it not mine to share your burdens?” she asked.
Symon pressed her head back down onto his chest. “Ye ease me load by being here, where I was always alone for the past few years.”
Athena rubbed her hand across his belly. “Perhaps Uncle Henry could help Brenda.”
Symon’s body stiffened. “How so?”
“He was going to gather support against Galwell,” Athena answered as she lifted her head and looked at him. “Elizabeth Tudor will not take it kindly if she discovers one of her lords is playing women falsely.”
Symon slowly grinned. He shifted from beneath her, rolling out of the bed as he rustled around in their discarded clothing to find his shirt. It was the only thing he put on before he strode toward the door.
He stopped at the last moment and reversed course, coming back to sit beside her.
“I love ye, Athena. For yer wit and yer flesh.” He kissed her soundly before rising. “I’m going to write him a letter.”
“I love you, Symon Grant.”
He froze at the door, turning around to look at her with his hand on the door. The look on his face brought tears into her eyes. She didn’t fight them though. They were born of happiness, and happiness was too rare a thing in the world.
So she’d embrace every moment of it.
Every moment she had to share with Symon.
A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough.
Of that she was certain.
* * *
It wasn’t the first time she’d been sent to marry a man because of the gain it would deliver to her family fortune.
Brenda looked at the border of England and stiffened her spine.
She wasn’t even very upset about the whole business. After all, she was much stronger than when her father had wed her to a Campbell at the tender age of seventeen.
Ye are upset…
No, she was not. Brenda forbade her inner voice to argue with her. But a face rose from her memory in defiance of her determination to focus on the path in front of her.
Bothan Gunn.
Anyone who didn’t understand how dangerous he might be was indeed a fool.
She’d rejected him.
He wasn’t the first man to meet that fate, but he was the only face that refused to be banished from her mind.
She would have to tighten her discipline.
For the road in front of her was toward England, and Bothan was a chief from the Highlands. He belonged there, among the snowcapped mountains, not below her in the stench of overcrowded English cities.
She would not think of him again.
And that was final.
* * *
Grant Tower
Symon was watching her sleep.
Athena woke with a soft gasp to find him with his head resting in his hand as he lay on his side with his elbow propped up beside her.
“Ye must stop worrying,” she murmured as she reached up to stroke his face. Her belly wasn’t even rounding yet, but her waistline was thicker as their babe began to grow.
Symon’s concern grew every day too.
“Or is it…that I do, in fact, snore?” she asked softly.
He chuckled, placing his hand on her belly. “Ye don’t snore, wife…”
She enjoyed the way he stressed the word wife. “You realize that when you worry…you doubt God?”
Symon’s brow furrowed.
Athena nodded. “Yes, after all, we were brought together…under the most extreme circumstances. And I am here…and our child is growing—”
